Noiseless Fury
by hopelessromantic549
Summary: She willed herself to miss his dark eyes, willed herself to hate his haughty smirk, willed herself to care at all. But she felt nothing. She screamed. Alternate ending of 2.13, CB. One-shot.


_"How nice – to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive."  
- Kurt Vonnegut, Jr._

She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. The tears fell heedlessly, caressing her cheeks with their broken whispers. The breath caught in her throat as she watched the snow fall, its fragile ice seeping into her veins. Everything was broken, just as she was.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes falling on the desolate boy beside her. He gazed at her in silent wonder, his eyes exhausted, his cheeks pale in the morning light. Words trembled on her tongue, but his frantic, crazed half-smile quelled what little courage still cowered in her heart. She knew he would leave.

Despite his best intentions, despite the care he had shown her the night before and the way she had pulled him into her arms at last, watching as he trembled, tears in his dark eyes...he would leave, perhaps for the last time.

She reached out to him, her hands searching for the hollow beneath his ear. He sighed a little and stroked her hair. She didn't dare look at his face.

He whispered softly, "It's morning now."

She nodded and leaned into him, her voice barely audible when she replied, "Will you just...hold me? I need your arms around me."

He heard the well-concealed urgency in her voice, the desire that filtered through her words. He knew her too well. His hands reached out to her, and he pulled her in, smiling a little.

There was something different about the way he held her this time, a passion, a tenderness, a _love_, so removed from the grief and need, acute to the point of pain, that had consumed him the night before. He had come to her, collapsed on her bed, inhaled the slightly floral scent of her covers, found solace in the one person he knew would hold him, the one person who could shed light on the darkness that clouded his mind.

She had saved him.

She loved him. It might kill her, it might break her heart. But she had lost him once, and then once more. She could not live without him. She loved him.

She couldn't hide her surprise when his cold fingers touched her cheek, shocking her to life. She knew she had only so much time until it became too much for him, this love, just a few more stolen moments before he shied away and with clenched teeth told her he would break her heart if he let himself love her. She knew the pain he had endured without her was pain he would endure time and time again if it meant keeping himself away from her.

For her. It was all for her.

His soft hands gently turned her head towards him, his warm breath fanning over her face as his lips hovered above hers. His eyes were quiet, thoughtful, the darkness she knew so well suppressed, at least for now. She didn't move when he kissed her, didn't succumb to the heady scent of his skin. It was his turn to reach out to her. It was his turn to fight for her.

He didn't hesitate, letting his fingers come to rest on her neck as his eyes traced the curves of her face. She saw something in his expression that made her cringe. She knew it would end soon.

He littered kisses along her jaw, breathing against her skin, "I need you."

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her, his tears soaking her shirt. His breath came hard and fast now, the sobs racking his trembling body, the sorrow emanating from his tired eyes like a broken, burning light. His hands drifted to the sides of her face, the heat suddenly stifling. He cradled her face in his hands for a moment, smiling a little, the death in him still unmistakable. She stared at him, drank in the sight of him as his lips moved against hers.

His touch shuddered through her, and she tugged at his shirt, urging him to pull away before she fell so far that she forgot herself.

His lips left hers for a brief moment, the heat already lost, and he furrowed his brow in confusion, pain breaking through his carefully cultivated facade. He looked so lost, like a little boy. A little boy who had just lost his father.

And then she knew. She could no longer refuse him. It would hurt too much.

With a slight groan, she brought her lips to his once more, desire flaming in her throat as his hands fluttered hungrily along her collarbone. She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the flood of sensation that threatened to pull her under, the silkiness of his skin, the huskiness of his voice...

His hands slid across her skin, coming to rest on her waist, his fingers pinching the thin fabric of her dress. She nodded quickly, and with one swift movement, he pulled the garment over her head.

His eyes traveled downward until they reached the part of her she had once held so private, the part of her she had hoped to give to the one she truly thought she loved, only to discover that giving herself to the one she had needed – and still needed – to save saved herself as well. She had lived that night, lived like she had never known she could.

She expected to see lust in his eyes, a forgotten hunger that he had suppressed ever since his hands first caressed her body.

But there was only love.

She began to cry, her tears melting with his lips as they crashed together again and again. The tireless, jagged rhythm pulsed through her, and she fought to remember every moment, every muffled sigh and fervent whisper. She knew it was all she would have left once his delicate smile no longer graced his broken features.

The dread that pushed her forward was something she could not hide from him. She couldn't hide anything from him. But he only shushed her, quieted her, soothed her, his lips touching her forehead, his hands stroking her hair. She trembled beneath him, for once not feeling hunger for his touch. For once, she simply needed him.

His lips hovered by her ear, his words haltingly and hurtfully saving her.

"I love you."

She clung to him, lost in fear and hope and anguish. It couldn't last, the beauty of this moment, the memory of his voice, the sight of his lips forming the words she had once so longed to hear. Now, they meant nothing to her. He would leave her.

But no matter the pain, no matter how many times he left her, those three words made her whole again. Three words. Eight letters, three syllables. At the White Party. In Brooklyn. In her bedroom. Once she had asked to hear them from him, and twice he had asked her. Only once had she said it. By the limo, after Bart's funeral...she shied away from the memory, wincing. It was too painful. He had rejected her.

But here he was, in her arms again. And he needed to hear her tell him she cared. She loved him, and that knowledge was the only thing that could save him now.

The whisper flew out of her mouth before the words quieted on her tongue.

She fought back the tears that welled up in her eyes at the sight of the sudden brightness in his face, the hope nearly bringing her to the ground. And she cringed as the joy was quickly replaced by a dark, brooding look she knew only too well.

He lifted himself off her, his eyes darting to her face and then away, and she reached out to him feebly, knowing she could not sway him from his decision. He moved fluidly to the door, stooping to pick up his clothes, holding his gaze on hers. His footsteps were light and measured, each movement bringing him closer to oblivion.

She dropped her eyes. He looked so beautiful in the white light of the snow, standing there by the window, his flawless skin soft and exposed, seemingly unmarred by the trials of death and time. And she realized she had not lost him. He was never hers.

He walked over to her, pulling a blanket over her broken body, dropping a kiss on her feverish forehead, breathing with just a hint of regret, "I'm sorry."

And then he was gone.

She waited for the wave of pain to save her from herself, waited for what had never seemed possible to become the reality. But she felt numb, removed from the situation. The tears that fell from her eyes streamed noiselessly, unnoticed, down her face.

She willed herself to miss his dark eyes, willed herself to hate his haughty smirk, willed herself to care at all. But she felt nothing.

She screamed.

_fin_


End file.
